Continuing his whirlwind tour of the democracies of the world: Israel, Italy, and now France; Guinn has touched down in the land of frogs' legs, feasts and funky cheese.

Sarkozystan: the arrival; Our Man Guinn arrived in style, the $200,000-a-trip private jet being used by nameless French sub-ministers was unfortunately not available, luckily under the new regime, non-cronies of Sarkozy are provided with lush travel accommodation.

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After some breathing assistance, the man from Antarctica is back, ready for his French adventures.


However there was not one single hole in the cardboard for Penn to breathe. When opening the infamous box it was a vision of horror: no water, no pillow, no playstation. Poor Mister Guinn was lying there all exhausted, all flat.

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Brown cardboard, bold choice, Guinn's has transcended secret agent cliches made of guns, women, or martinis; when Guinn travels, he travels in style.

Guinn, ever the man of action, few words and about 2 and Β½ yards of low quality latex, doesn't hesitate to explain his mission, and the unforeseen difficulties that arose during Project Alighieri's Revenge:

Dear Fellow: (He starts everything he says with Dear Fellow and Good Sir in a fake English accent, the fact that he kept referring to me as Watson and ringing an invisible bell calling for Mrs. Hudson leads me to believe that he may suffer from an unresolved Sherlock Holmes complex.)

"I had to get out of there," he says nervously as he paces back and fourth. "The great humanist Berlusconi blew me out of the water with his anti-immigration laws" he finished as he began looting my cabinet, in search of his imaginary Persian slippers I can only assume.

Obviously pusillanimous fascists are gifted with a natural hate for minorities rather than historical remembrance. "I jumped ship as soon as the getting got good, which was great as I gravitated towards the green lands of this grave locale," he alliterated with a light chuckle.

"And not a moment too soon, this land is currently under the boot of a vertically challenged intellectual reject. Even a prominent Antarctican such as yours truly hasn't the slightest chance in this so called 'Land of Human Rights,'" he broiled scathingly. "Human rights indeed, and what of your feathered friends? Why, even in his attempts to be compassionate, Sarkozy's words are tinged with racism. Human rights indeed!"

Yes, but the box, the lack of air holes, no getups or gadgets, "why did you travel so light?" I asked him.

"My dear simple fellow, I have forgone such trimmings as with the new border laws, even a carefully crafted disguise wouldn't have helped me much at all. The last time I crossed a US border, despite, or perhaps because of, my disguise, I was strip searched for an hour and violated in every conceivable manner. Dolce & Gabana Harlot Red, exquisite blond wig, a deliciously pair of size 25 Prada stilettos and pink lipstick generously covering my beak does not a disguise make, as I learned.

"Make a new woman out of me indeed, when I got back home I even had to cancel my participation in the Antarctican speed sledge challenge that I had brilliantly won the previous year against Ed the bear and Bill the Seal", he stated matter of factly . "Invasion of privacy indeed!"

A bit embarrassed by Mr. Guinn's border experiences, I decided to quickly change the subject and suggested that we go for a city tour. Being a strong believer, I proposed a visit of the major churches of Marseille city.

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Mister Guinn remembering his US border misfortunes and hesitating before crossing Marseille's one

We started with a great old monument: the abbey of Saint Victor, built during the 5th century and considered one of the older Catholic monuments in the world.

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Guinn trying to get some coins at the entrance of the Saint Victor abbey

At the top of the door where Guinn is graciously posing one can see a stone carving depicting Saint Victor riding his horse, holding a spear and killing a dragon. In the Middle Ages dragon slaying appears to have been a popular sport.

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Saint Victor, a member of this fancy dragon slayer society including Saint Michel, Saint Marcel or Saint Georges.

In the crypt of the Saint Victor abbey lies the most important feature of the monument: the Black Virgin. Such cults were widespread during the early Christian era.

Guinn was mesmerized by the beauty of this sculpture : "Dear fellow, after many months away from Antarctica and my family, I felt very touched by this beautiful sculpture. Round, black, dignified, caring and humble woman holding her child, it reminded me of the warmth and the softness of my own mummy."

"What a great time it should have been when people were worshiping those beautiful mothers figures, I guess there were far fewer wars."

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Obviously white non virgin men cults have taken the lead over Black Virgin cults.

We decided to continue our tour of Marseille's great monuments and headed towards Notre Dame de la Garde, a gold plated church dominating the city.

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Guinn already regretting his Saint Victor visit

While posing in front of this imposing cross, doubts arose in Guinn's mind.

"There are so many kids around, how come showing scenes of torture is allowed" he asked inquisitively.

"Well this is Jesus Christ, the Messiah, our saviour, the saviour of Christian people. He didn't die for nothing, he was killed on the cross in order to free people from their sins", I answered quite mechanically.

"My dear fellow, knowing what I know about the peculiar human psychology, the effect should be exactly the opposite. Having your saviour tortured and killed because of your sin induces much guilt, shame and fear. Those kinds of painful feelings are quite far from what I call freedom".

As Guinn continued to loudly proffer such sacrilegious rants about our multi-millenium saviour in the middle of the crowd, I decided it was time for a diversion if we didn't want to end up in a jail.

Like some theme parks, there was a series of attractions around the church. So we left the cross and moved to the next sculpture. Guinn had a shock when he saw Jesus lying dead in the arms of Saint Mary.

He couldn't hide his exasperation "so after the torture of your saviour, you can now see his mother heartbroken and crying until her very last tear. Dear fellow, how can fear and guilt lead you to love and peace?" Indeed the wiring of the Christian brain must be quite twisted.

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Guinn falling back in front of so much suffering

Guinn was not totally wrong. The contrast was striking even for the true believer that I am. We were so far away from the symbols carried by the Black Virgin, a caring woman, lovingly holding her child, embodying all the universal and beautiful feminine values like nurturing, creativity, sharing, sensitivity.

An amazing contrast when you think about it. On one side a Black Virgin, small, feminine, round and soft, on the other side a white sculpture, massive, dominating, masculine and angular.

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Guinn getting blessed and a little bit tired at the same time

"Tell me dear fellow, this character looks very similar to the previous one, but this time he is standing up. Didn't we mix up the sequence of the visit?"

Quite embarrassed by such a candid question, I explained "well, this is indeed the same character, but this time he is alive, somehow back to live, resuscitated from the dead".

"Oh, my dear fellow that's an impressive story. So you're telling me that for millennia, billions of people have swallowed this story directly extracted from a Twilight Zone episode, really impressive indeed"

"What I can't understand is that those same people are ready to crucify you if you dare to suggest that it might be possible that somehow a few minor flaws might lie in the 9/11 official story according to which:

"a bearded troglodyte, alone in the depth of his Afghanistan cave, organized the largest terrorist operation of the human history involving more than twenty pilots, dozen of logisticians, experts in communication, hiding for months from US intelligence, getting dozens of fake IDs, passing through every single security check point, knowing perfectly all the airlines charts, maps and time table."

After blaspheming about Jesus Christ, Guinn was now insulting the death of thousands of US citizens.

"Well, Guinn let's have a look at this beautiful place, here we offer candles to God so that our wishes come true, you should walk very discreetly because it's a holy place dedicated to prayers and meditation."

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Guinn discovering the Church's candle business

"Dear fellow now everything is perfectly clear, first instill fear, guilt and damnation in people then sell them candle and salvation. Selling the cure to the disease you have created... a smart business indeed."

Disgusted by all those displays of guilt, control and lies, Guinn decided to change his mind.

"Dear fellow, instead of buying those candles could you lend me some coins? I want to have a look at the beautiful Marseilles bay and obviously these binoculars don't appear to accept Antarctican dollars", he said while repetitively poking his beak in my ribs.

Suspecting that it was a very long term loan, I reluctantly put a 2 euro coin in his hand, his paw, his claw, well this bizarre organ hanging at the tip of his wing.

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Guinn looking for some sardine school along the coast or maybe some penguin females tanning on the beach?

After this last visit Guinn seemed a bit bored, he whispered in my ear, "I've heard so much about France, the Moulin Rouge, Pigalle, the haute couture, you know. You are a local so you should know about the sexy side of Marseille?"

"Well I'm afraid you won't find many penguin ladies in the area."

"Nevermind, after days spent in a box I will manage with my strong adaptation skills."

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Mister Guinn chitchatting with a couple of female friends

Guinn's female friends seemed very impressed with our secret agent's presence. Quite excited they asked "We've never seen you around, what is you name?"

He laconically answered "My name is Guinn, Penn Guinn" and he turned back without another word.

"But Guinn why did you leave? You're such a Don Juan, they were all looking at you, and did you see how pretty they were with those big eyes and long eyelashes?"

"Well dear fellow, you should know that internal beauty is far more important than external, and in this domain I have much doubt concerning individuals whose brains are smaller than their eyes."

Actually I suspect Guinn's retreat was more due to his pride that couldn't bear females who were taller than him.

In order to forget this unsuccessful mating attempt, we decided to go home and have a good lunch. When entering the garden Guinn just had time to see the big teeth of a fierce predator. He got so scared that he frantically shook his little wings and landed in a tree.

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Perched in a treetop, old Mister Guinn
Was holding a cheese in his beak.
Drawn by the stench, Mister Fox, down below,
Peered up, then proceeded to speak.

On my way to the kitchen I shouted, "Guinn, don't worry it's Carlito the gentle fox, you should know that foxes don't eat birds, well, they don't always eat birds. Anyway be logical, the longer you stay in your tree the hungrier Carlito will get and the more likely he is to eat you so you'd better come down as soon as possible".

Convinced by this bullet proof rhetoric demonstration, Guinn happily climbed down the tree and, mesmerized, he walked towards this unexpected and handsome creature, that kind of reminded him of the cute seals he had met on some icebergs.

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Mister Guinn and Mister Fox shyly learning to know each other

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Mister Guinn and Mister Fox meeting a bit more

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Mister Guinn deciding to have a little nap with Mister Fox while trying to transcend the old dogmas of heterosexuality

Exhausted after his tree flight and the subsequent garden activities, Mister Guinn asked innocently, "So is this lunch ready?" as he puffed on an imaginary cigar.

Apparently Guinn's olfactory skills could sort through the imaginary smoke as the waft of fish came floating into the garden, his eyes glazed over as he made like a juggernaut to the fish that I had painstakingly chosen for him. Within moments the packaging was in shambles as he inspected his gastronomic treat.

"Here Ho! What's this, poison," he screamed as he shook a sloppy fish in my direction. "Murder is it, by starvation no less, with this, this, red herring of a meal, this lure. Farmed fish man, farmed fish, I don't want all this claptrap with vaccinations, I came for real food, you foolish French man!" he exclaimed with a satisfied grin as he slammed the fish on the table and went to the living room puffing on his imaginary cigar.

While waiting for his new treat he looked about catching a glimpse of a copy of the Da Vinci Code that was neatly lying next to the Bible. "Tut Tut, what's this then? Prattle is what. If this man had really been initiated into any great esoteric tradition he would know that it is not the Da Vinci Code, but the Da Vinci Cod!"

"And he would know about this highly mysterious character called Maria Magdalena. After months spent in distributing bread for free, cleaning feet, enduring silly wine tricks and emptying nets full of fishes, she got bored with the Middle East lifestyle and decided to pimp up her life by migrating to the trendy French Riviera."

"After an exhausting journey Maria Magdalena finally reached France bringing with her some of those particular fishes. That's how the French Mediterranean coast became the center of the Da Vinci Cod area."

"Come dear fellow, I have an invention to test on you. It was inspired by the deadly effective tasers used by law enforcement. With this device I shall secure us a fine fresh meal! We will find this Cod, this Da Vinci Cod, So dark the con of Dan!" he lauded triumphantly.

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Confidential information: the green and black instrument on the right of Mister Guinn is a top secret weapon. After the Taser and its wonderful potential, Guinn is testing the soon to be disclosed underwater Taser prototype.

Fully equipped Penn started to walk proudly towards the sea ready to look for the vaunted fish.

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Mr. Guinn thoroughly scrutinizing the abyssal depths of the Mediterranean Sea.

After several minutes of hunting, swimming back and forth, he suddenly froze. The slippery fish was down there, 300 feet under the surface, happily swimming between tires and empty rusty cans.

Guinn took a big breath and gracefully dived. A long torturous apnea ensued, ending with a brilliant catch. Guinn jubilantly pierced the surface of the water, fish in beak.

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Mr. Guinn posing with the greatest catch of the month, year, century: the Da Vinci Cod.

A successful fishing expedition has brought more fame than Guinn can bare, here, some local groupies stop to inspect the catch and pose with our intrepid adventurer.

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Mr. Guinn posing with two anonymous fans and stoically carrying the burden of fame

After his most exhausting fishing expedition and noticing that his back was far more tanned than his tummy, M. Guinn decided to rest while enjoy the Mediterranean sun.

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Nasty sunburns developing on Guinn's neck.

The sun was setting and it was now time to go back home and to enjoy the delicious fish caught by our master fisherman. Excited, I started to run to the kitchen to get the pans ready.

Here Mr. Guinn stopped me with a firm arm, or more likely a wet wing:

"Beware, beware dear fellow, like the cherished Japanese fish called "fugu", the Da Vinci Cod must be carefully prepared in order to remove all toxic parts. Chemists have found that some parts of this cod, particularly those numerous black spots, contain some very high concentration of lye, a corrosive and neurotoxic chemical used to make soaps, so do you want to die suffocating in some silly charlatan's bile or do you prefer to let me prepare the meal?" he posed inquisitively.

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Mr. Guinn starting to cautiously remove the lye parts of the Da Vinci Cod

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Cooking tip: to eliminate lye, get rid of all the little black characters. The remaining white meat should be safe.

After Guinn's deft preparation, we could now begin the repast. Still, a bad aftertaste lingered, seeming sometimes, you just can't separate the lye, you just have to throw the whole thing out.

It seems Guinn felt it too. He had but finished his meal when horror struck: Guinn was ill. He tried to stand, but faltered and I was barely in time to catch him. We needed a vet, and I said as much.

"Are you mad you blithering lay-about? Why not a veterinarian while you're at it? I want a doctor!" he exclaimed before turning green and rolfing on my floor. Contrary to what some people have claimed, being slushed together in powerful digestive acid and then regurgitated doesn't make Dan Brown's work a better digest.

"But Guinn you're an illegal migrant you don't have any social security rights. Thanks to the recent political improvements, the universal social security is at an end. Maybe you should just stay here and take a rest."

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Mr. Guinn recovering from a serious lye intoxication. You can notice that the thermometer indicates 25 degrees, that's definitely an alarming temperature for a penguin.

Guinn was very disappointed; he couldn't understand how France had been lowered to a situation where it was letting its infirm suffer without help.

"But why?", he asked with his little voice comically distorted by the massive thermometer obstructing his beak.

"Guinn, this great evolution happened thanks to our beloved President. Before French people were lazy and assisted, now we are a hardworking people. It would have never happened without the efforts of Sarkozy who bravely managed to destroy our social rights one by one."

"Sarkozy, who is this Sarkozy you keep babbling about? Speak intelligibly man!" he groaned as he clasped his head and squinted. "Sarkozy, that's not a presidential name, that's a fish name! And I should know, being an expert in the field. President's have impressive sounding names, not comical names with Z's and Y's and all that rot."

"I was quite serious, but to the French, he is also known as Nicolas the First."

"Nicolas the First, well jesus man, you French people know he's an imperialist pig dog and you laugh about it, where's Madame la Guillotine when you need her. And fetch me some sardines, I'm peckish and lacking color."

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Guinn surfing the Web while regretting the absence of a wings compatible keyboard.

After some research he stumbled upon a picture of our great president:

"Short, long nosed, round tummy, black and white robe. He looks more like a queer sort of a penguin than a president. Well, I take that back, I'd hate to gives the penguins of the world a bad reputation for being linked with such a creature"

Indeed the similarities were striking.

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Nicolas Sarkozy, also known as Nicolas the Great.

According to some insiders, it's in this red box that Sarkozy stores the identity of all the individuals he betrayed and bribed during his career life and that's why he brings it everywhere. Pragmatic observers rejected this unrealistic theory arguing that such a massive listing couldn't possibly fit in such a small box.

After some further research Guinn discovered that this creature was indeed human. Sarkozy's ancestors were part of the Hungarian nobility.

"Well I don't like the sound of that at all, dear fellow. Nobility! There is nothing noble about the man!" he exclaimed emphatically.

"Well, not really 'noble'. Pal, the father of Nicolas Sarkozy de Nagy-Bocsa was only a small local baron who already seemed to have a keen interest in right wing ideologies: as the Red Army entered Hungary in 1944, the Sarkozy family fled to the Nazi Germany."

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You don't need noble blood to reenact the Versailles' atmosphere, but it sure helps making it look more "fishy."

Furthering his research Guinn found some more information about Hungary. "Well, from what I understand Hungarian people descend from the Khazars, a people that appeared in Northern Turkey during the VIIth century and led to the Ashkenazi branch. I explained this as best I could."

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Sarkozy enjoying his Khazaro-Hungarian origin.
To celebrate the privatization of the French electricity company, Sarkozy's facetious friends offered him a candelabra. The President seems to mildly appreciate the joke.

"Guinn I don't know what blood is flowing in his veins but this individual seems really particular. Look at this video and perhaps you can finally decide. After his meeting with Putin, our Man From Mossad ceremoniously represented France during his first G8 conference."



Enlightened by those discoveries, Mr. Guinn realized that France was obviously ruled by a dangerous maniac and the wisest option was to quickly leave Sarkoland before getting tagged with a biometric ID and jailed in an overcrowded cell.

Guinn was already daydreaming about his next location. During his long trip Mr. Guinn would have time to think about his journey in France and to contemplate the now famous saying: "Knowledge protects, lye endangers."

This time Guinn would not travel in his horrendous box. He had decided to drive away but his Antarctitan driving licence was not legal in France.

Fortunately Mister Fox, who seemed to keep very good memories from their garden interactions generously proposed to drive him.

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Mister Guinn and Mister Fox ready to drive towards new adventures

Bon voyage Monsieur Guinn.